Page 26 of Secret Baby for the Bad Boy

Sorry about this morning, her message starts, disarmingly gentle. My son was sick.

I blink. Once. Twice. My hands hover over the keys, uncertain if I should respond or how. Son? The word bounces around in my head, sounding more and more unreal as it plays on repeat.

She has a child? She’s guarded that fact like a state secret; I’m not sure I’ve ever heard it mentioned around the office. Shana probably knows, but I wonder if anyone else does.

And what else don't I know? I type out a response before I can stop myself.

Is he okay? The concern that fills the words might not be obvious to her, but I sure as hell feel it. I can’t imagine being a father, but I’d think having a child so sick I had to miss work would be an awful experience. But again, she’d reminded me that I just work for her, so that concern is something I'm not supposed to show.

Minutes crawl by, each second stretching longer than the one before. Then, three dots bounce on the screen. She’s typing.

Yes, much better. Thank you. I swear I can hear her surprise in the words.

Good to hear. I lean back, my eyes tracing the ceiling's precise lines. Why share this with me now? She’s not the type to share her secrets, and I can’t help but wonder where this newfound trust is coming from.

Thanks for your... understanding. Another message from her shows an unexpected softness. This might be the moment that chipped at the barrier between us, but I won’t hold my breath.

Anytime, I write back, but I want to say more. I have so many questions, but I don’t think now is the time to ask them. She already let me see more than she tends to share, pushing might cause this fragile trust to break. But why now?

See you tomorrow, she sends.

See you then, I say, though it's just text on a screen.

But tomorrow, maybe, just maybe, the walls between us might be a little thinner, easier to topple or scale. And as I shut down my computer, I realize I'm looking forward to finding out.

Chapter Thirteen

Lara

I remember saying my goodbyes to Win this morning, and hearing Damon’s promise he’ll keep an eye on the nanny and win while I’m gone.

At work, tears swim in my eyes at the heartbroken look on Win’s face. And now, behind my desk, my trembling fingers clasp the cold metal of my phone, making it hard to focus on the image.

I press the device against my cheek, lips drawn tight over my teeth. The office—usually buzzing with the click-clack of keyboards and murmured conversations—seems quiet, but I’m in my own world right now, trying to figure out how I’m going to manage going on a work trip and being away from my son for two days. But Shana can’t make this meeting, so the responsibility falls on me.

“Is everything okay?” Lark’s voice startles me, and I drop my phone into my lap.

“I’m fine.” The words are a reflex.

He arches an eyebrow, those stunning green eyes tracing my face before coming back to my gaze. “You don't look fine.”

I force a smile, but I’m certain I’m not convincing. “Just... family stuff.” My thumb brushes over the dark screen, swiping away invisible smudges, anything to avoid his intense scrutiny.

“Do you need to step out and get some air?”

Damn him and his concern. And damn Shana for insisting I take him on this trip. I’m going to be stressed and missing my son, I don’t need any other… complications.

I shake my head no. My heart thuds a frantic rhythm against my ribs. If he only knew the truth. But he doesn’t and I’m glad.

“Okay, then.” He nods, but I catch the flicker of concern in his features before he leaves me in peace.

Alone again, I draw in a ragged breath and bite down on my lip, tasting the bitter tang of anxiety. I can do this. I’ll get through this. For my son and all those moments I cherish so much.

I shift in the passenger seat of the company car, the hum of the engine a low purr that does little to soothe the fluttering in my stomach.

Lark's hands are steady on the wheel as he navigates us out of town. I’d offered for us to take a driver so we could relax, but he likes to drive, so I let it go.

The concrete and lights of the cityscape blurs into greens and browns as we speed toward our destination, an out-of-town conference that feels more like torture.

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